


a full circle

by Nhuy



Category: Miss Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Fake Character Death, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 14:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14979620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nhuy/pseuds/Nhuy
Summary: Tachibana Wato in the aftermath of Moriya, Stella Maris and Sherlock.Or: Wato is a precious child, need protection from creepy-ass people asap.(Spoilers for 1x07, 1x08)





	a full circle

**Author's Note:**

> Unedit and probably riddled with errors. 
> 
> Please take this offering to the nicest, friendliest, growing fandom of Miss Sherlock...
> 
> And it's 2am, so byeeeeee!

Moriya died. Sherlock shot him.

He fell down the ground with a thud. Wato’s ears, still ringing from the gunshot, duly tried to take in the sound.

The last sound he ever made.

Sherlock was still standing there, face akin to stone, her hands lowered with the gun barrel still smoking.

And seeing that, that _cold expressionless_ face, Wato realized this was what hurts the most. Not the running away, not the secrecy, not even the death of Moriya.

It was the fact that she misjudged Sherlock.

 

. 

 

And Tachibana Wato, ex-doctor and volunteer for Syria, screamed and screamed to the night sky.

 

. 

 

Doctor Irikawa was a nice woman, understanding and sympathetic, kind and always provided her with advices. She always seemed to know what to say to soothe Wato’s deepest fears and insecurities, bringing some semblance of peace to a mind constantly troubled by Syria.

She was the link that led Wato to Moriya.

Wato thought that everything would be just like this: helping Mrs. Hatano with whatever the woman fancied, going on dates with Moriya, talking to Dr. Irikawa and… running around the city with Sherlock. Wato thought that she could get use to that routine and finally started to heal.

Apparently not. Stella Maris had to appeared.

And now Moriya was dead, Sherlock ran away, everything that once been okay was now lying crumbled beneath her feet; Wato fumbled once again.

The hand Dr. Irikawa offered her was a lifeboat now, helping her stay afloat off her inner turmoil. It was something stable, a ground to keep her feet on. A new purpose.

_A new world._

_._

How nice of Dr. Irikawa, to gave these purposeless people a new home, a new goal in life. This place, the Dock, housed people who is the same as Wato- they had suffered a loss, a betrayal, they fumbled too in the darkness- until Dr. Irikawa ( _Mariko, please call me Mariko. I think that after everything, we shouldn't treat each other as strangers anymore.)_ helped them, gave them a new purpose.

Just like how she rescued Wato.

The people here all talked of Moriya fondly, some even talked about his photos and the way those photos captured the tragedies of the world.

They talked about how looking at those photos reminded them of the fact that, the world they were living in was a cruel world, full of betrayals and injustices.

Wato remembered the straw-colored coat, the stone-like face, gun barrel smoking and the thud of an impact and she agreed with them.

 

. 

 

The gun felt foreign in her hands. Her hands were _(had been)_ doctor’s hands, suited for wielding shrapnel and picking bullets out. They weren't suited for putting bullets in.

But Dr. Irikawa was right.

 _Sherlock is not your friend,_ she said. Wato felt some deep, vengeful part of her agreed.

_She is not my friend. She is a murderer._

(A breath on her ear, telling her to shoot.)

A squeeze on the trigger, a bang, a metallic sound.

Before her eyes, she only saw a body falling from the bullet. It's Moriya. It's Sherlock. She couldn't pick them apart.

In her mind, Wato started reliving the worst night of her life.

 

. 

 

Dr. Irikawa was so smart, really. She helped the police on the right track to arrest Sherlock. They planned to catch her with a trap, set up right in the deceased scientist’s room.

A traitorous part of Wato’s mind wondered what case did Sherlock get caught up in now. Maybe the case was difficult, otherwise she wouldn't step one foot into the clearly laid trap.

 _No matter,_ the part that kept on tormented her mind with replays of _the night_ whispered. _Let her burn, rot in jail for the crime she committed. Let us watch her suffer, for what she caused._

The voice sounded like Dr. Irikawa, and Wato trusted her.

Because the good doctor had saved her, gave her a helping hand and a new purpose.

_Irikawa Mariko is always right. There's no reason to doubt her._

. 

 

Sherlock outsmarted everyone again, walking out of the front door like she owned it.

She still hadn't been captured yet.

Wato expected nothing less.

 

. 

 

The good doctor looked angry, almost. Wato overheard the conversation after with the _traitor._

_Reichenbach, blueprints, and an agreement._

There was no direction from Irikawa, no instruction for Wato. She felt herself tilted without Dr. Irikawa as a guiding star.

And Wato made the final choice by herself- since that night.

 

. 

 

The taxi driver kept looking at her, maybe in concern or something. The way to Reichenbach was long, and he still looked at her like that.

Like someone _who was not in their right mind._

Wato didn't care about him or whatever he thought about this weird customer.

Her purpose was right in front of her eyes. _Reichenbach_ loomed closer and closer.

Her fingers gripped the gun tighter than ever.

 

. 

 

Sherlock had a dramatic way of doing things, so it was logical that she would want to confront ( _maybe, kill)_ the doctor on the roof. Like how she confronted an innocent woman and pushed her off the roof.

_One, two, three._

Step by step, Wato could finally make out some voices behind the door.

The door was left unlocked.

One hand reached to the gun, the other the door, Wato stepped into the bright morning light.

 

. 

 

The bright morning light made Sherlock look nothing like a murderer. _Dr. Irikawa should have known better._

Wato wondered whether Sherlock still brought _the gun-_ the instrument to Moriya’s death. She wondered whether Sherlock would shoot and stain the good doctor’s white coat blood red.

She couldn't let that happen, couldn't let Sherlock kill the doctor.

She took the gun from her coat and raised it- aimed it at Sherlock- _her almost friend._

 

. 

 

There was a buzzing right in her ears, it was the doctor’s voice, saying something that Wato couldn't comprehend.

No, she could take in the sound, break it down to meanings and implications but she chose not to. _Because the doctor is always right._

But then, Sherlock took one step closer to Wato- to the gun barrel, with a look Wato’d never ever seen on her face ( _kind, affectionate, grateful)_ \- and started talking.

This time, a small part of her mind struggled for control, for understanding and comprehension because a part of her knew that _this time was important_ , because Sherlock never called her name like _that_ before.

“You are my very first friend.”

“So it's alright if you shoot me.”

“If you are going to shoot, let me be the one to take the bullet.”

Wato's hands- doctor’ hands, trained to be steady and precise- shook, the gun still pressed against Sherlock’s chest became unsteady.

And she struggled inside her mind.

 

. 

 

The images of Moriya haunted her in nightmares, in memories. He was someone who understood her needs and feelings. She knew him through the doctor…

The doctor who _also understood everything_ that was Wato.

But the doctor was the guiding light, she _was always right._

She had loved Moriya, he was a safe space- tailored made for her, and Sherlock took him away from her. A betrayal of trust.

_But…_

_Sherlock is always right too._

_Maybe, she is telling the truth; that they are friends…_

A voice ( _...stop…_ ) that was Irikawa’s, whispered in her ears. Telling her to start counting down, to calm down, to steady her aim.

_No one is tailored-made for someone, people are not supposed to fit with others like some kind of jigsaw puzzle piece, some kind of well-rehearsed script. Stop. Stop. Don't aim. Lower the gun. Stop. Stop. Stopstopstopstop. STOP!_

Irikawa's voice mercilessly squatted that defiant part, finally counting to three.

The Wato that was Sherlock's friend, cried deep inside her mind.

 

. 

_One._

Wato was struggling to make sense of everything. The light, the whispers of Irikawa by her ears, Inspector Reimon’s loud voice, Sherlock's gaze, Sherlock's warmth that still lingered on her hands. _Sherlock._

_Two._

The voices kept on fighting inside her mind. Telling her to stop, to shoot, to stop, to shoot- a mess that gradually bled together into a single maddening buzz.

_There's no time to decide, to stop or to shoot?_

_Three._

Time’s up.

A decision had been made.

 

. 

 

A gunshot was enough.

Wato's decision had been taken away from her. Sherlock was still standing, there was no blood.

Wato's jumbled mind slowed down their struggles.

Because Sherlock was holding Dr. Irikawa who had a panicked look on her face- _why is she panicking?_ \- and smiled a carefree smile, directed at Wato. _They were standing near the ledge. Too near._

“Wato. From now on, you will be free.”

Another smile.

And Sherlock just fell right over the edge, holding a screaming Irikawa Mariko.

A thud reached her ears.

Her mind finally stopped fighting altogether.

 

. 

 

It took her one second to register her position.

Two seconds to process the situation.

Three seconds for the all-consuming grief to hit her full force.

 

. 

 

And Tachibana Wato, Stella Maris’ final victim and Sherlock's first friend, screamed and screamed her sorrows to the bright morning sky.

 

. 

 

Inspector Reimon kept her away from the ambulance, lending her a handkerchief, helping her stand and walk.

Wato didn't think she had the strength to do it.

The commissioner and his entourage arrived with loud voices and obnoxious sounds. They pulled Reimon aside, asking questions and confirmations.

One of them crouched down right in front of Wato, gave her a water bottle and asked:

“Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

_No, I'm not okay. Sherlock is dead now, the hospital can't bring her back so why would I go there?_

_Sherlock is dead._

_Dead._

_Permanently._

Wato cried. For her friend, for doubting her, for _everything. For Sherlock._

_._

221B. A place filled with memories.

Everywhere Wato looked, she could see an image of Sherlock; sitting in the corner desk and cooking up some new things, crouching on the floor with evidences and papers scattered around her, lying on the couch while stress-eating chocolates, playing the cello…

Wato didn't know she had enough tears to cry anymore. But she still cried. _Because Sherlock is dead, there will be no one complaining in the morning or nearly blowing up the corner desk anymore._

Just Tachibana Wato and an empty room full of unsaid things.

 

. 

 

Mrs. Hatano found her sitting right at the room’s door, crying like a child. The woman hugged her and cried too.

 

. 

 

There was still so much to know about Sherlock: her reasons for changing her name, why was she so eccentric, and many more.

But those unsolved mysteries died with Sherlock. Mrs. Hatano loved Sherlock like her own daughter, and one respects the dead by not saying anything.

One look at Wato was enough for Mrs. Hatano. She tried to convince the ex-doctor to _stay, not to go because where would she stay?_ but Wato couldn't stay.

She couldn't stay because everywhere she looked, she saw Sherlock.

_It hurted. A lot. More than Moriya's death._

. 

Her luggage (a sad, sad pink suitcase) dragged behind, right hand still holding the Hermes coat, Wato stepped out of 221B, one final note of this eventful chapter of her life.

The florist would be her next destination.

_Today's the funeral._

 

. 

 

A rose was laid on the last place Wato seen Sherlock, on top of Reichenbach.

Wato wasn't stupid enough to not know about flowers and their meaning. She knew what a red rose meant.

But she bought it and laid it here anyway.

_For what could happen._

 

. 

 

Tokyo looked peaceful, unknowing of the dangers that lied among it. Wato counted herself lucky to encounter such dangers, they made her realize some valuable lessons.

_Sometimes, the kindest people is the cruelest._

The Hermes coat, now bloodstains-free, was held up to her face. Wato inhaled once.

Will Sherlock's scent also disappear from this memento, abrupt and short just like the time they spent together?

Wato hoped against hope that it was not the case.

 

. 

 

The clack-clack of heels jolted her out of her reverie, and Wato turned around.

Just a regular business woman, not the one Wato was hoping for. _Not Sherlock._

_Delusional. Sherlock is dead. Don't expect her ghost to appear in the middle of the day._

If Wato wanted Sherlock to appear, she’d have bought an ouja board…

“If I use an ouja board, she’ll haunt me for the rest of my life!”

Signing softly, Wato hugged the coat closer to her body. Ghosts and spirits are not subjects to be joking about.

She reached down, planning on taking her luggage and seeking out a temporal place to stay…

Only to find her hand empty.

_Where's my luggage?!_

Wato tried to remain calm and looked around. Her suitcase was big, clunky and _pink_ , no one could just up and drag it away without drawing attention.

There!

She saw it, dragged by someone in the middle of the throng of busy bodies. The poor case was dragged uncaringly by the thief, walking quickly and surely. _That person sure has guts, stealing in broad daylight like that,_ her mind seethed.

Wato turned around and ran after the shameless thief, who probably was the stupidest thief because who in the world stole someone's luggage and the dragged it noisily like _that?!_

Squeezing herself through the crowd of people and saying sorry all the while, Wato ran full speed to the shameless idiot, a yell waiting to be thrown to the thief’s face. Until she bummed right into thief’s back.

Rubbing her nose, Wato looked up.

Straw-colored coat.

Prada pumps.

Short hair.

Beauty mark right at the corner of the mouth.

A mischievous smile curled up that same mouth.

“I can't believe you actually believe in those superstitious stories. Ghosts aren't real, you know?”

Wato believed that ghosts were real, and one was standing in front of her right now.

“What's with that face, sad that I took away your chance of getting an ouja board?”

A rose, still covered in clear plastic wrap, was shoved up to her face.

“Don't just stand there, Wato. Let's go home, I’ll explain everything, okay?”

Wato thought that she ran out of tears. Apparently she was wrong, because her eyes were getting blurry.

A hand holding a handkerchief reached up and wiped her face. The handkerchief smelled like Sherlock.

“You are… alive?”

Wato's voice, raw from crying, cracked.

“Yes, I'm standing right before you, am I not?”

Sherlock, if she was the real one, raised one eyebrow, asked back.

“But- how, I saw you fell with-”

A finger was held up to her lips, silenced Wato's doubts. That finger proceeded to drop down and hold her left hand. The look in this woman's eyes- in this maybe-Sherlock's eyes, were the same as _that day._

_Kind, affectionate, grateful._

“Just trust me, I’ll explain everything.”

_Trust._

_Yes, I trust you._

_You once again gave me a reason to continue._

“So let's go home. I never said anything about you moving out did I? It’ll be boring without you.”

 _Sherlock_ held her left hand and walked again, dragging the luggage and Wato behind.

No, not behind. Sherlock slowed a little, and she caught up.

“You promise to explain everything? No secret, no nothing?”

“Promise. Now I'm starving. Playing dead means not eating well you know?”

Shoulder by shoulder, Tachibana Wato and Sherlock walked back towards 221B.

A new eventful chapter with old settings started again.

 

. 

 

Tachibana Wato could finally heal again. She found her reason to live.

(It took four days of Sherlock's antics to cheer Wato up, with added benefit of not having an angry Wato breathing down her neck. On Wato's part, happiness warred with irritation because she almost forgot how tiring handling Sherlock could be. But it was all worth it, just to be by Sherlock's side, be her friend.)

(It did take god-like patience not to stuff the rule list down Sherlock's throat, but Wato had help- Mrs. Hatano, Reimon, Shibata, Kento, she could do it.) 

(Somewhere along the ways, those precious people became a family to Wato. She thanked the gods everyday for leading her to them.)

(Although, Sherlock nearly exploded the desk, again…)


End file.
